


Happy Accidents

by Spiderheart



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Belly Rubs, Catharsis, Clit growth, Come Inflation, Dacryphilia, Knotting, Magical Healing Cock, Other, Power Dynamics, Punishment, Sex as Therapy, Shapeshifting, bottom!Crowley - Freeform, funishment, i...guess this counts as magical healing cock, it's good crying, little bit of crying kink, more like magical healing dom tbh, top!aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 03:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderheart/pseuds/Spiderheart
Summary: An awkward moment turns into some self discovery, catharsis, and the beginning of something.





	Happy Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> Hover over asterisks to see footnotes.
> 
> Hello! I had a fan request knotting, though not for this pairing in particular. I've been contemplating A/B/O for the past nychthemeron, as I've always liked the concept but realised I had never actually written any, myself; and one of the other people in the homeless shelter was watching good omens, and well, this happened.

Angels, strictly speaking, did not _have_ ranks. They were rank-less, being that they were made before God had decided to _do_ that, and so their corporations were usually tagged as betas, even though they were nothing of the sort. Most of them were not on earth long enough to really pay attention, barring a spectacular incident that involved several Nephilim getting stuck in the thick of a spring equinox celebration, and being too polite to say nay, discovering that really, sex was quite good, and they’d like to have a lot of it, please.

Nobody really talked about where the Nephilim were, nowadays.¹

Aziraphale had always been fairly curious about the whole matter almost five minutes after being cast out of the Garden, and in the intervening years, had done no small share of experimenting. He _assumed_ that his counterpart was doing much the same, only moreso, and, of course, more Deviously.

He _assumed_ Crowley noticed the ranks, and had decided to at least study them.

He _assumed_ Crowley would have had a lot of sex in the five thousand years since humans began.

‘Hold _still_ , Crowley!’ Aziraphale growled, as the demon struggled.

‘It’s _stuck!’_

‘Yes, dear, that’s generally how it works.’

‘Is it?’

It occurred to Aziraphale that Crowley had rather showed his hand—and it was a _very_ surprising one at that—right about the time it occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale seemed far too calm and _informed_ about this.

‘Have you… got stuck in someone before?’

‘Haven’t you?’ Aziraphale said, one white brow arched, looking quite collected aside from the flush and the sweat and the dilated pupils. He was pinning Crowley’s wrists, and his cock was currently buried in Crowley’s cunt, which Crowley had magicked up because, well, Aziraphale had the other part, so he should have the match, if they were going to do this sex thing. He’d seen animals go at it, of course, but they never seemed to get _stuck_.

‘I mean—yeah, loads of times.’

Aziraphale’s eyes were _twinkling_ , damn him. ‘You’re a _virgin_.’ It was not a question, and it was said in a voice of hushed delight usually used on very small animals.

‘Don’t—’ Crowley began, but Aziraphale’s mouth was down by his neck again, and did something very interesting, and Crowley hissed at the sharpness of those Alpha teeth. He’d never noticed before. ‘Ngk, Angel…’

‘Oh my _stars_ and garters,’ Aziraphale was _purring_ , ‘I feel so—’ he stopped himself briefly there, because of the several words he could choose, many of them would have set Crowley hissing and irritable, and of course, Aziraphale did not wish to do that. ‘ _honoured_ ,’ he decided to say, ‘and _delighted_ , of course.’ He pushed farther in with his hips, though it wasn’t much, and Crowley made a noise that he would not have admitted was a mewl. ‘Isn’t that nice, Crowley, darling?’

Crowley bit his lip, and didn’t answer, and so Aziraphale did it again, and again, and _again_ , until Crowley was panting and giving forth a kind of rising and falling wail, and Aziraphale felt rather wickedly like he was torturing Crowley into a confession, which felt Right in that it was of course, a very Angelic thing to do—but felt very Wrong in that it was not exactly _pain_ Aziraphale was tormenting Crowley _with_. All in all, Aziraphale thought, he wanted to _explore_ that, Sadistic as it may be—or was it?

‘Isn’t it. Nice,’ Aziraphale _hissed_ into Crowley’s ear, and Crowley finally nodded, shaking and panting with little tiny noises on each breath. Little, tiny, _helpless_ noises.

Oh, Aziraphale very much _liked_ this.

‘Good _boy_ ,’ he growled, ‘good little omega, take it, let me fill you up….’

Crowley felt something _give_ , deep inside him, and Aziraphale _moaned_ , and when Crowley forced his eyes open, it was to see the most _beautiful_ expression on the angel’s face, as something warm filled Crowley in pulses that shook Aziraphale’s body as he held himself over Crowley, one hand braced upon the bed, the other cupped around Crowley’s leg, holding it against the angel’s body, the other left to fall graceless to the bedclothes, splayed and open, _vulnerable_.

Crowley was and was not afraid, even as orgasm washed over him, and then away, leaving relieved pleasure in its wake, and a feeling of pressure deep in Crowley’s belly—good pressure, _comforting_ pressure. Full, and—yes, Crowley saw upon a quick glance down— _visibly_ full, at that. The serpent in him felt very safe, seeing a bulging belly. Aziraphale was catching his breath, gazing down at Crowley with his blue eyes looking unfairly blue, surrounded by so much flushed and golden warmth; unfairly blue, and unfairly _smug_. Bastard.

He slid out, and Crowley was surprised at the sound—and then realised _he_ was making it, not Aziraphale, when Aziraphale smirked.

‘Change of heart, have we? Feeling empty?’

‘Fuck you,’ Crowley whimpered, hands fluttering on his belly. ‘Does that… does that _always_ happen?’

‘Oh yes,’ Aziraphale said, ‘this time of year, at least. Though of course, _we_ can make it happen whenever we like.’

‘Can it happen… you know, lots in a row?’ Crowley wanted more of that fullness, immediately. Aziraphale’s gaze sharpened, as did his smile and, politely as a crocodile, he showed his teeth.

‘Why, darling, do you want to do it _again_? _Now_?’

Being pinned under that gaze was better than being held down by the wrists, Crowley thought. ‘…maybe,’ he said, squirming. Wanting, perhaps just a little bit, that thrilling, Right-Wrong feeling from moments ago, when Aziraphale had been _thrusting_ and Crowley had felt very much like he was being _interrogated_ , only without all the unpleasantness of pain and discorporation.

Aziraphale looked down at the flushed, dripping, _gaping_ cunny between Crowley’s thighs, and Crowley saw that said eyes were, just faintly, glowing. His clit twitched, at that, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice.

‘Make it bigger,’ he ordered, quietly. Crowley swallowed hard.

‘Make what bigger?’ he asked, even though they both knew each other well enough to know the answer.

Aziraphale tapped his clit, and pleasure exploded from the touch, and Crowley _whimpered_ —and delighted in whimpering, this time—before obeying, his clit swelling forth from the size of a holly berry to the size of a modern cherry, with a hood to match.

‘Gooood boy,’ Aziraphale purred, and Crowley _didn’t_ hate how his every molecule _sang_ at the praise. He made it even bigger, though every twitch of his clit was _agonising_ pleasure, now.

‘Oh, what a _luscious_ little fruit,’ Aziraphale murmured, watching it grow, all for him, as big as the original apple from Eden had been, now.² ‘I think I shall have to taste it.’ He pulled away from Crowley, and Crowley didn’t dare even _think_ about closing his legs, letting them fall outward, spreading them, as Aziraphale got off the bed and stood, leaning on the bedpost and just looking at Crowley, fucked-out and wrecked, barely able to think his own name, his clit _obscenely_ huge….

‘Come over here, Crowley. Hips on the edge of the bed.’

There was no discussion, Crowley simply moved, and Aziraphale directed him, kneeling on a cushion on the floor at the edge of the bed, and leaning over it to gently kiss his prize. Crowley squeaked, and his clit twitched, which made him make an even needier sound, fisting his hands in the sheets.

And then Aziraphale _opened_ his mouth, and started to lick, and suck, and Crowley was panting and bucking and ready under a minute, but Aziraphale had no intention of taking only a minute to enjoy such a plum. He held Crowley down, and try as he might, the demon couldn’t move _away_ from the exquisite torment of that mouth.

‘What a _sweet_ little cunny you have, my dear,’ Aziraphale purred, his fingertips taking the place of his lips, for the moment, tugging at the generous hood.

‘Nnnhh,’ said Crowley, articulately.

‘You know, I think I should like to fill it,’ Aziraphale said. Tug. Tug. Tugtugtug.

‘Hhnnn,’ said Crowley, agreeing.

‘I think, in fact,’ Aziraphale went on. Tugtugtugtugtugtugtug. ‘That a very… oh, _very_ wicked demon needs quite a _lot_ of filling.’

He _knew_ , Crowley thought, but only said, ‘Nnnng.’

Aziraphale rose up again, and _loomed_ over Crowley this time, really getting into the _spirit_ of the thing—whatever it was—that they were doing. His expression was definitely Sadistic as he poised with the tip of his cock at Crowley’s entrance. ‘I’m going to fill you with Goodness until your naughty belly positively _bulges_ with it. Beg me not to,’ he ordered at the end, the whole Thing sort of taking over, at this point.

‘Please,’ Crowley found the words fell from his lips easily, _eagerly_ , ‘Please don’t. Please, mercy. Aren’t you supposed to have mercy?’

Aziraphale leaned his face very close, his breaths hot on Crowley’s ear, his lips nearly brushing the tattoo of the snake.

‘ _No._ ’ he whispered, and thrust, much harder and faster than before, this time; and he _bit_ Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley’s clit was big enough that every thrust pressed it up between him and Aziraphale, and it was _torture_ and he _screamed_ , and he just—just let the screams go on, and on, and didn’t _think_ so much as _feel_ and Aziraphale was so _strong_ and Crowley was so _helpless_ , yes, helpless, and drowning in sensation, drunk on it, completely insensate and then the thrusting stopped, and Crowley felt something he hadn’t before, which was _anticipation_ , because he _knew_ what happened next, this time, and now his body _wanted it_ , wanted it so badly he was clawing at Aziraphale’s back, heaving his hips up, and up, and he heard someone muttering a litany of pleas, and dimly realized _it was him_ , but that didn’t matter, nothing mattered but the world between Crowley’s thighs, and _Aziraphale had stopped thrusting._

Aziraphale waited, panting, looking down at Crowley, savouring the pleading dropping from his flushed, shining lips like honey. ‘Beg me to go on,’ he said, oh-so-quietly.

‘Please,’ whimpered Crowley.

‘Beg me to punish you.’

‘ _Please_ punish me,’ Crowley said, and felt something deep inside him unclench at the doing, something that made his eyes get a little wet. ‘Please, please, Aziraphale, please punish me.’

Aziraphale saw the tears fall, and fought down a loving sigh at the sight of them. He did so _love_ tears. He put his hands either side of Crowley’s head, and thrust again, not pulling out, the knot a bit bigger than before, since Crowley had started to like it so much. Crowley sobbed—it was a cleansing sob, and Aziraphale thrust again, and again, and again, and Crowley was wailing in quite a different way, but Aziraphale could feel it, and when the final end came, Aziraphale gave his lover everything he wanted but could never voice, filling him more than any mortal could, satisfying his serpentine nature with a thoroughly bulging belly, murmuring things to Crowley which he was sure Crowley needed to hear, and which Aziraphale needed to say.

‘This is for your own good,’ for example, and, ‘That’s a good boy, take your punishment,’ and, ‘doesn’t that feel better?’ and so on, until Aziraphale was obliged to be upright again, Crowley’s belly too full to allow him to lean over the demon. He reached out a hand and stroked the taut skin, marveling at it, caressing it. ‘Good _boy_ , Crowley.’ He wasn’t sure if Crowley wanted to leave the place they had both gone, so he left it at that, stroking. _‘My_ good boy,’ he added, because he wanted to say it, _needed_ to let Crowley know _Aziraphale_ was the only angel allowed to do this—was the only angel _Crowley_ allowed to do this.

Crowley orgasmed again at the simple words, squirming on Aziraphale’s knot, which he imagined was still pulsing inside him, still filling him, bigger and bigger and…. What had happened? What had _happened_? It was so good, so… so _good_ , and Crowley waved aside the part of his brain that was picking at it, trying to figure it out, and tried to just _feel_. Feel Aziraphale stroking his belly, feel Aziraphale’s cock deep inside him, feel Aziraphale’s _knot_ , feel _Aziraphale_.

‘Love you,’ he murmured, so softly he wasn’t sure if the angel heard; but then again, he was _very_ sure the angel heard. Gently, slowly, he felt the knot get smaller, felt the cock pull gently, slowly out of him, felt Aziraphale gently, slowly arrange Crowley’s legs into something more comfortable, and move up to sit beside him on the bed, leaning over on one arm, his other hand still stroking Crowley’s stuffed belly.

‘I love you too, dear,’ he said, and leaned over to put a soft kiss on Crowley’s belly. ‘Was that nice? I rather enjoyed it.’

‘Same,’ said Crowley, who had overseen and claimed credit for the invention of most slang. It certainly made being laconic more communicative, he reflected. ‘What happened?’

‘Oh, I believe we rather slid into having a BDSM scene, as they’re called. You were in the submissive trance. It can be quite intense.’

‘ ‘s good, though,’ Crowley reflected. ‘Liked it.’

‘Yes, I rather did as well,’ Aziraphale said, pensively. ‘Would you like to continue doing things like that? With pretending to… to apprehend and punish you, I mean?’

Crowley stared at the ceiling of the bedroom, for a while. Did he? He’d always been afraid of that sort of thing; and yet, in the moment, he’d felt rather free of any obligation to be guilty or afraid of it, because it was _happening_ , and yet at the same time, he was sort of rebelling against the whole idea, because it was, well, it was _sex_ , it was _kinky sex_ , which was generally considered by humans to be the most sinful extreme of pleasure.

‘Yeah,’ he said, finally putting his own hands on his belly, and feeling a wave of almost-sexual-but-not-quite satisfaction and satiety. ‘Let’s.’

‘A good first time, I think,’ Aziraphale said, rather proud of himself. Crowley flopped his head over to look at Aziraphale.

‘Bastard.’

Aziraphale patted his belly. ‘Yes, dear, I know.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ They were, of course, Downstairs; and had founded the Concubus Department.
> 
> ² Apples used to be quite a lot smaller, before humans had perfected genetic engineering and pest-control.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Questions? Bonus Features? Come over to [my discord](https://discord.gg/Mvygfnn)!


End file.
